The Oil Rig
by lulusgardenfli
Summary: It's the summer of 1959, Darrel Sr. is heading to Texas to work the oil fields, Pony is convinced he's going to become a millionaire, Soda is uncharacteristically worried, and only Darry knows the real reason their dad took the job. -One Shot.


**_The story takes place in the summer of 1959. The first part of the story is an adult Ponyboy looking back, the second part is Darry narrating the event in 1959._**

 ** _Some of this does get a bit sappy, so if you like that sort of stuff: yay! If you don't um, sorry!_**

* * *

When I was eight, my brothers ten and fourteen, our father declared a 'family meeting' after a dinner of ground chuck and Uncle Ben's (third time in a week).

That immediately got me worried. The only time we had family meetings was when someone died. The last such incident was six months ago when Dad told us that Grand-Mama Schmidt had 'passed away.'

"That means she died," Darry, sitting next to me on the couch, whispered in a loud voice.

As I followed my mother and brothers onto the couch for _this_ family meeting, I went through a list of relatives in my head. On my dad's side there was just Uncle Patrick and Grandma Curtis, there were a whole bunch of relatives on Mom's side.

Growing up, my favorite relative was Uncle Rollo. He was Mom's little brother by ten months. "The Irish Twins" they were called. They both had identical blue-green eyes and matching blonde hair. Uncle Rollo's real name was Francis, but everyone just called him Rollo. I never learned why.

"Daddy! I tugged at his work shirt, "is Uncle Rollo okay?"

He stared at me with a blank expression. "Um, yeah, he's okay."

I sighed with relief.

"What about Uncle Pat, and Grandma and Aunt Lucille and Uncle John?" I catch my breath; I hadn't even begun to add spouses and cousins to the list.

His face crinkled, "What, uh, yeah, everyone's okay. Why wouldn't they be?"

I sighed again. _Phew._ I really liked my family. I mean, my Grandma Curtis was sort of an odd ball character. Picture a little lady who pairs crisp white gloves and a new Easter hat with an old cotton dress and the same simple shoes she's worn for over a decade, add a bunch of rules about "living as Yahweh intended" a strange obsession with Liberace, and a good heaping of Bible verses for every occasion, and you've got Grandma Curtis. But, she was nice enough, I guess. She lived with my Uncle Pat in California, he took care of her.

Dad sat in his arm chair, the four of us sat on the couch. Darry sat closest to Dad, Soda in the middle and Mom sat on the far end of the couch, with me in her lap. Although I was eight, I still enjoyed sitting in my mom's lap, even if my brothers did tease me about it.

I looked at my dad. The twinkle in his eyes were gone and replaced with a tired, blank look. But he tried to grin at us, so I grinned back at him with everything I had.

Except this time, when he saw my cracker-jack grin, he looked straight down at the hole in his left shoe.

I wondered if maybe I had a piece of rice stuck in my teeth, but I felt around with my tongue and I didn't feel anything.

He was still looking at the hole in his shoe, when he began talking. "Boys, you know that money is real tight around here…" Darry nodded, but Soda and I just looked at each other blankly.

I knew that my parents couldn't always afford to buy me the toys I've wanted, and sometimes we had to stretch hand-me downs and old clothes past their breaking point, but I never really thought about our financial situation beyond bubble gum and comic books.

"Money's always tight," Darry said in a matter of fact voice. He was fourteen and after scoring more touchdowns than any 9th grader in school history, he thought he was an authority on everything.

"Yeah, well, things are a lot worse now,-damnit Soda! -stop bangin' your feet against the sofa!"

"Sorry!" Soda gave a little chuckle, but instantly stopped banging his feet. I was glad, that banging was making me dizzy.

I was surprised Mom didn't swat him one for banging his feet on her sofa.

But, Mom looked almost as distracted as Dad did.

"The news, Darrel," Mom looked at him with the same expression she gives one us when we're trying to wiggle our way out of trouble. _"Just admit to it right away, the more you try to weasel your way out it, the worst it will be for you. Besides, I'm your mother, I know EVERYTHING."_

Our father stared at his three temporarily motionless sons sitting on the tap-less couch.

"Well boys, things are very tight around here and I decided, we decided" he looked at Mom, "well, there's a job in Texas that will pay good money."

"What about your job here?" Soda piped up.

My dad gave Soda a small grin, "you know I ain't been getting much work lately Pepsi-Cola. But this job, this job will take care of all of us, and when I come back, maybe work will pick up around here."

"Texas! Wow! Can we come with you?" Soda wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up and living in Texas was his dream. Soda gave Dad such a full force grin that I had no earthly idea how my dad didn't grant Soda his every wish then and there.

"Nah, Pepsi-Cola, the oil rigs is by some real small town. There ain't nothin' for anyone to do EXCEPT work the oil rigs. Besides, ain't you and Stevie building a car for the Soap Box Derby?"

"Oh, yeah! It's gonna be a real swell car, I mean, Stevie is gonna add a real engine and everything…."

I opened my mouth with surprise, "are we going to become millionaires?!" I began to think of all of the neat things we would buy once we became genuine millionaires: big swimming pools for Mom, horses for Soda and Dad, a real football field with real goal posts for Darry. Hmm, maybe this family meeting wasn't so bad after all!

Darry looked at me like I was off my nut.

"A millionaire, Jes.." Dad cut him off with a harsh glare and Darry sunk back into the couch, not so big or tough anymore. I instantly took back my _very_ generous imaginary gift of a football field with real goal posts and replaced it with an imaginary large pile of manure at his feet. I chuckled to myself at my big brother's change of fortune.

"Come here, honey," Dad pointed to his lap and I ambled to his side and sat on his knee, just like I did when I was a real little kid and he gave me 'horsey rides.'

"No, Ponyboy," he rubbed the side of my cheeks with the back of his calloused hands, "we're not gonna be millionaires. Not even close. This is _just_ enough money to get by. You understand?"

I understood, but boy did I like the thought of being a millionaire.

"There are a few things I need you three to understand. First of all, money is going to be even tighter than normal. That means no desserts and extra money for movies and the like."

I sighed. In one minute I went from would-be-millionaire to kid without ice cream for the summer. Soda looked worried. I knew he was thinking of the money he'll need to enter the Soap Box Derby.

 _Don't ask, don't ask, Soda,_ I try to send him a mental message.

Darry must have picked up my wave length, because ever so subtlety he gripped Soda's arm and shook his head 'no' at him.

Dad didn't seem to notice and just continued onwards. "Second, and most importantly, your mother is completely in charge. Sodapop Patrick Curtis, if you don't stop kicking that damn sofa… Thank you. You boys will listen to your mother and do exactly what she tells you. If I hear so much as a peep, just one peep, that any of you are not listening to your mother or that any one of you is giving her any lip, so help me, I will drive all the way from Texas in the middle of the night to belt each and every single one of you. Then I will make y'all pay for my gas and any other expense along the way. Got it?"

We nodded. Our dad may be goofy and fun, but when it came to his wife and defending her honor, he took no prisoners. My Dad had never belted me, but having seen him belt both Darry and Soda on one occasion, I had no desire to join that club.

Looking back, it was a strange speech. In our family, our mom was always the disciplinarian, the one calling the shots. But, I guess Dad just wanted to get the point across that Mom had full dictatorial powers in his absence.

"Yes, sir" Darry and Soda said in almost perfect unison. I nodded.

My dad sighed and pulled me close to his body. He smelled like wood, sweat and ground chuck, he kissed the top of my head.

"I know. You're good boys. All three of you are good boys. I'm lucky to have every single one of you and I love each one you so much."

His voice wavered a bit. Dad usually didn't get sappy like this.

Darry looked down at his feet and Soda looked like he wanted to run up and give Dad a big bear hug, or start bawling himself.

To my shock and horror, Mom was crying. My mom hardly ever cried.

"Soda!" I whispered loudly to my brother and pointed to our mother.

Soda turned to face her and put his arms around her in a big hug, "it's okay Mom, we'll be real good. We can't replace Dad, but me and Darry will take care of things around the house. I'll even make sure Pony eats all of his broccoli."

I stuck my tongue out at him. That wasn't part of the deal.

But she laughed and pulled Soda close to her. She gestured for Darry to move closer to her and she placed her arm around him.

At first Darry looked embarrassed, but he leaned into her.

"Dad, will I have to eat broccoli when you're gone?"

My father looked at me dumbfounded.

"Um, if your mother tells you to eat broccoli, then you are going to eat broccoli."

"But, I say to no one in particular, "I hate broccoli."

* * *

 **Later on that night...**

"Darry! Can I come in?"

I blink and look at my alarm clock. I was dreaming about Miss. Kitty from "Gunsmoke" when my little brother decided that this was a good time to interrupt _my very_ pleasant dream.

"It's 2 A.M. in the morn…" but before I can finish my sentence, he opens the door.

"Come on in," apparently the asking permission thing was just for show.

I turn on my table lamp and blink as my eyes adjust to the light.

My ten year old brother is hovering over the edge of the bed, staring at me.

 _Well, this is fun._

I pull my fingers through my hair. I need a haircut; my head always gets real sweaty under my helmet anyways.

I sit up and cross my legs; I try to recreate the look of authority and concern Coach Barrett wears anytime the guys on my team go to him with a problem. Not, that I would ever go to Coach Barrett with a problem, I usually just work things out on my own.

"What's up?" I don't need to add that this better be worth it to wake me up at 2:00 A.M. in the morning.

"You havin' nightmares, Soda?" I try to say this as nice as possible, but if this kid woke me up JUST as Miss. Kitty was about to give me a blow job because he had a blasted nightmare about monsters under the bed…

He glares at me and his brown eyes narrow so they look like little sticks. "Glory, no! I ain't havin' no nightmares. I ain't a baby." To prove that he isn't a baby, he pouts and crosses his arms, his ten year old pride wounded.

I roll my eyes.

I don't tell him that he sounds even younger than Pony when he whines like that.

Instead, I sigh, "Sorry, what is it?"

He sighs, plops down so hard on the bed that I involuntarily bounce up. I glare at him. But, he just turns to face me, his legs crossed and a strange, serious expression on his face. He's naked except for his underwear and socks. The skin on his chest looks very white under the glare of my lamp.

"What's going on with Mom and Dad?"

I did not expect this.

I'm good at a lot of things: school, football, fighting, and gymnastics. But, I'm not so good at lying to my brother.

I look down at my lap; I don't want to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Darry," he continues. I hear them yelling at each other…"

Inwardly I cringe. _Soda knows._

A horrible thought pops into my head, "does Pony hear them?"

Pony is eight and he still believes in fairy tales and dragons. Heck, he still believes in Santa Claus for Pete's sake. Although, part of me thinks he's just milking the whole Santa thing to try to get better presents out of Mom and Dad.

But the thought of my innocent, head-in-the-clouds baby brother hearing our parents fight, makes me very sad.

Soda shakes his head, "nah, he sleeps real good. I make sure he don't hear nothing."

"Sometimes," he looks around the room as if he's about to tell me a big secret and wants to make sure there are no spies around, "if he hasn't fallen asleep yet, I'll make a bunch of noise so he'll get detracted and not hear Mom and Dad fight."

"Distracted," I can't help but correct. That explains the louder than normal pillow fights and wrestling matches I hear coming from their room late at night.

"I _make sure_ Pony's okay."

He says this with such authority; I stare at him, dumbfounded. It's amazing. A few minutes ago he sounded like an eight year old, now he's sounding older than me.

But, I shouldn't be surprised. Because as much as the five of us love each other, Pony is Soda's pet. He would do anything for that kid.

"Why are they fighting so much, Darry?" He looks at me with such a pained expression that I want to start to bawl. Of course, I'm way too cool and too old to start crying like a damn baby.

"Everyone fights once in a while Soda." I stare at the alarm clock and curl my fists up into little balls. I feel real torn; torn between my loyalty to my brother and my loyalty to my parents. I want to tell Soda the truth, but I promised my parents.

"Is Dad going to leave like Mr. Mathews left?"

I'm dumbfounded. Where would he get a foolish idea like that? Our Dad may have problems, but he wasn't the type to just up and leave his family. Heck, he was going to Texas to _save his family._

"No, he and Mom aren't gonna get a divorce." The word feels bitter on my tongue and my nose involuntarily crinkles.

"Then why is he going away to Texas?"

"To make money, you know that."

He shakes his head, "there are oil jobs herein Tulsa. Jerry O'Bryant's dad got one last week. He says they're still lookin' for men. Why didn't Dad take a job here? If we needed the money so badly, why wouldn't Dad stay here with us and work at the same one Jerry's dad is working at? Why is he going all the way to Texas?"

I know that Soda doesn't do that great in school, but for a kid who never cracks open a book he sure do understand things real well for a little ten year old kid. Heck, I don't think I would understand things that well when I was ten, and I'm supposed to be the 'smart' one.

I try to think of any excuse: the pay is better in Texas, you know how Dad loves talkin' about spending time on the road…

Instead, I decide to level with him and pray that my parents won't kill me.

"Mom and Dad are having some problems…"

"So they are getting a divorce!" His mouth drops open and he looks real scared.

"No!" I say this with more force and volume that I intended. But really, could this kiddo just stop with all of this ridiculous 'divorce' talk?

I lower my voice and lean towards him, "Mom and Dad don't want a divorce. But they decided they need to spend some time apart. Just a little bit. Dad is going to Texas to work the oil rigs and will send the money back to us. He's only going to be gone for the summer."

He looks at me, crushed.

"Hey," I begin, "you wanted me to tell you what's going on, right? Besides, Dad is coming back and he and Mom will be just like the use to be." If I'm honest, I'm saying this more for my benefit than his. I don't know much about love. I mean, I've gotten to "third base" two times already, but that's about it. I do know this: if Darrel and Jo Curtis can't work things out, what hope is there for anyone?

"How do you know?" he whispers in such a soft voice that I have to strain to hear him in spite of the fact that he's practically sitting in my lap.

I sit straight up, "Cuz he's Dad. He loves all of us, but he loves Mom the best. There is no way he's ever gonna leave her. The only reason he's going to Texas in the first place is to prove to her that he still deserves her."

"He deserves her!"

I cringe. I know Soda's is angry at Mom for some imaginary slight against Dad.

I feel guilty. In trying to protect Dad, I got Soda thinking that the whole mess is Mom's fault.

"Yeah," I'm wondering how much I should tell Soda. I decide to keep Dad's secret. He trusted me.

"Yeah, Soda, but they both make mistakes sometimes. This ain't Mom's fault, or Dad's fault, really. It isn't anyone's fault. It just is."

I try to say this with as much Coach-Barrett-locker-room-talk finality that Soda won't dare question me.

But he wouldn't be Soda if didn't ask a million questions.

"What sorta problems? Dad didn't kill anyone did he?"

 _Glory. The kid sounded worse than Pony._

"No, why the heck would you think that?" I'm genuinely curious. I mean, Dad, a killer? The thought was absurd.

"Remember that Mark kid who lives near Steve? His parents killed each other. Everyone at my school is still talkin' about it." Soda shivered. "I make sure that Steve don't talk about Mark's mom and dad in front of Pony though."

Great, Soda came to talk to me, and I got him all hot and bothered thinking that his parents are going to off each other, just like this Mark's apparently did.

I bury my forehead in my palm. How do Mom and Dad deal with this shit ever day? I'm glad as hell I'm not a parent yet.

"No, it isn't anything like that, buddy."

I want to tell him the truth. I want to say, "yeah, Soda, our Daddy drank and gambled his way, and our way, almost to the poor house. I know it, Mom knows it, Dad knows it, and now you know it. Dad is going down to some little dinky town in Texas where there ain't no gambling places for him to be tempted by. How do like them apples, Soda?"

But I don't. I can't break a promise to my Dad and I can't break Soda's heart. As much as I love Mom and Pony; Soda and Dad are the two most important people in my life. I can't stand to hurt or betray either one of them.

As much as I hero worship Dad, Soda takes it to a whole other level. He's Dad's Pepsi-Cola-Cowboy and I'm not about to do anything to ruin that.

He looks at me like he doesn't quite believe me, and this makes me feel sad, even if I am proud of him for being able to see through my lie.

I expect him to start arguing with me, instead he just says, "Okay, Darry. We can't tell Ponyboy about this, can we?"

I shake my head no.

He places his fingers on top of his lips. I notice that they are heavily chapped on the bottom. I want to tell him to stop biting his lips so much. "Not a word to Pony, we gotta protect him, right, Dar?"

I place my own fingers on my lips, the two of us mirroring each other perfectly, "not a word, buddy."

I'm not one for hugs, but I place my hand on top of his arm. His arm is cold and I can feel the goose bumps under my fingers. God, how I wish he'd come to me with a stupid nightmare.

* * *

 **A/N** **S.E. Hinton owns both The Outsiders and That Was Then This is Now**

 **Mark is character in TWTTIN**

 **"Miss Kitty" played by Amanda Blake, was a character on the long running series, "Gunsmoke" The T.V. series ran from 1955-1975**

 **There are** **some carry over characters from my Mr. Curtis story "Both Horse and Driver"**

 **Yes, for anyone who is familiar with BH &D: Laura (Rachel) Curtis has absolutely no earthy idea that Liberace is gay. ;)**

 **P.S. Yes, "Stevie" Randle. Bwahaha! ;)**

 **P.P.S. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for any R &R. :)**

 **ETA: for some punctuation errors, although I'm sure there are still plenty I missed.**


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